It has been years, quite literally, since I woke at ten in the morning. But this morning, after getting up at 3.30am yesterday to catch a 6am flight to Bloemfontein, and getting home again just before nine, after a half-hour delay to my flight and a long day in-between of planning and budgeting discussions with the local college, I was startled to look at my watch and see that it was just after 10am. My god, I thought, I haven’t slept like this in ages!

I got up, and ran a bath, and climbed back into bed to wake Rob. I looked again at my watch, in disbelief – and saw, to my surprise, that it was still five past ten.

My watch had stopped. The clock radio told a different and more mundane and plausible story: it was, after all, just 6.45am. After all, these days I wake like clockwork, work-days and holidays, and today, Friday, was no different.

For a while there, though, the feeling of waking late on a weekday, luxuriating in bed in full exercise of my independence and my discretion, relaxing in the balm of a good night’s rest after the stresses and busy hours of the preceding day, was simply delicious. And, such is the power of suggestion, I have to say that, even though it is only 7.15 as I write, I feel deeply rested!